


Three in the Morning

by UnshoddenShipper



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Quality Time, baking cookies, being dorks, veganism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 09:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4430303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnshoddenShipper/pseuds/UnshoddenShipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grif's face reddens; you can tell even in the shitty lantern light.</p><p>“Only if you swear never to tell anyone,” he says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three in the Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for anon on tumblr! "Baking cookies at 3 am."

Your eyes narrow at the bedside clock. “Well great. Now my schedule’s all fucked up.”

“Hey, if you slept this long, you must’ve needed it.”

You groan, head flopping back on your pillow. And it was yours- Grif’s pillow sucked. It may have been standard issue, but somehow Grif had managed to make his very squishy and yielding. You sank right in and it made you claustrophobic.

“I’m supposed to be working in three hours,” you gesture vaguely.

Lying shoulder to shoulder, you feel rather than see Grif shrug. “Take a nap with me afterwards! It’ll be fine.”

You hum. “A nap? Or a _nap_?”

Grif props himself on an elbow, waggling his eyebrows.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining earlier,” he grins, all confidence.

“That’s what got me into this!”

“I didn’t tell you to go into a coma afterwards, now did I?”

You grab the pillow from behind your head and shove it into Grif’s face, swinging your feet to the floor. The man accepts this offering and lies back down, adding the pillow to his own.

“What are you doing now?” he asks.

“Getting socks on.”

“Jesus.”

“My feet are cold!”

You lapse into comfortable silence, and you see the soft look on his face in your peripheral vision. Then it’s gone.

“Simmons?”

“Yeah?” You rest a cybernetic hand on one knee, the other rubbing a five o’clock shadow that snuck up on you.

Grif sits up, propped on his hands. “Simmons. I just had what could possibly be the worst realization… of my life.”

You raise an eyebrow expectantly.

“We missed dinner.”

“My god. How are you even still alive?”

Grif hoists himself out of bed. “I don’t know. But we need to do a kitchen raid, like, pronto.”

You sigh. “Yeah, that sounds good. Wait; is it dinner or breakfast?”

Opening the dresser and grabbing out two pairs of sweatpants, the Hawaiian tosses one to you. “That’s a good question. Does it matter?” He pulls them on, asking, “Is time even real?”

“I think technically it’s breakfast, since we’re breaking our fast.”

The base is dark, and you hear the familiar hum of electricity running to the man-cannons on the roof. Making your way to the makeshift kitchen, you hear the waterfall outside, and through square, glass-lacking windows you smell Valhalla at night; damp and muddy. Your cybernetic enhancements cramp and ache under the moisture in the air here, but it’s alright.

Grif turns on the solitary lantern, and settling on one knee, you open up the mini fridge. Grif had found it on the roof- the previous Reds had filled it with beer- and moved it next to the camp stove. Along with alcohol were some perishables Donut had kindly donated from his garden, and stacked beside the fridge were a few dozen MREs.

You hum, picking through the options.

At length, you hear his voice behind you. “Dude… Do you wanna make cookies?”

You look over your shoulder, and he’s watching you with an odd expression, holding a tub of peanut butter.

“Cookies? Uh, they’d have to be vegan,” you warn him.

“Yeah, so?”

Surprised, you close the fridge and stand up. “You’d make vegan cookies with me?”

He shrugs, tossing the peanut butter from one hand to the other. “Why not?”

You can’t help but smile; you feel it stretch your whole face. Crossing the distance between you as Grif shifts his weight, you lay a hand on his arm, and he stops fidgeting. His shoulders slump, like tension in them was cut like strings. Leaning down, you kiss him soundly on a scruffy, stitched up cheek.

Grif's face reddens; you can tell even in the shitty lantern light.

“Only if you swear never to tell anyone,” he says.

So here you are; it’s three in the morning, and you’re mixing peanut butter and Donut’s homemade applesauce, while Grif measures out flour and tosses it into the bowl. You’re shoving each other, and cracking up over stupid shit, and the flimsy, old oven is preheating. Your vegan cookbook is illuminated by a standard issue army lantern and Grif keeps getting sticky shit on the pages and you both keep eating the dough.

You sit on the floor while they bake, side by side in sweatpants and it’s cold, leaning against this cement wall. Your elbows are on your knees and Grif’s reminiscing about working when he was a kid to feed Kai. You tell him about how all your college plans fell through, and shrug as you speak; you didn’t know what you were gonna do. You curl your lip and talk about how your dad was such an asshole, and he says he never knew his; he says he’s glad. He tells you about the recurring dream he’s been having, about a tidal wave that comes and crushes a whole city and he knows he can’t outrun it.

When the egg timer goes off, you use a dish towel to pull out the cookies; they’re still hot but man, who cares. You burn your tongue and they’re dense and sweet as you settle back against the wall. Now you’re pretty much laying down with your head on his shoulder, and you ask how they taste. Mouth still full, he says _waaaay better than expected._ You nudge him. You end up kissing. He’s such an ass.


End file.
